


We're Opening a Sandwich Shop

by ZipliningEgo



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Drabble, Established Relationship, Fluff, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-04-09 06:56:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4338392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZipliningEgo/pseuds/ZipliningEgo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bit of mindless fluff. Could be read as platonic.</p>
<p>Oliver, Felicity, and Tommy are training. They get sidetracked. There is talk of sandwiches.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We're Opening a Sandwich Shop

Tommy hit the ground with a groan. Sweat plastered his hair to his forehead and he struggled to suck air into his starving lungs. Some time ago he had discarded his shirt and he could feel his back sticking to the mat. Above him stood Oliver, cool as a cucumber, which was totally not fair, since the guy had been going back and forth between sparring with him and Felicity this whole time and he wasn’t even winded.

“I’m starting to think,” Tommy wheezed, propping himself up on his elbows, “that this ‘training session’ was all just a ploy to get me sweaty and half-naked on the floor.”

Felicity snorted from where she was taking a breather at the edge of the mat, which turned out to be a mistake as she was drinking water at the time. As she coughed and choked and sputtered, Oliver leveled his This Is Serious Business Stare at her and said, “I wouldn’t be laughing if I were you. You’re next.”

Then he winked.

If Tommy dissolved into breathless and somewhat hysterical laughter, well, who could blame him? Oliver had just made a sex joke. He hadn’t seen much of the “crude jokes” side of Oliver since before the island (unless he counted right after Oliver got back, when he was still pretending to be the same person he was before, but he didn’t). And damn if the look on his face—the quirk of his lips, the glint in his eyes—wasn’t downright playful.

Felicity was too busy coughing to notice this, though. “Thanks for your concern, guys,” she said, pounding her chest as the coughs subsided. “Really feeling the lo—” She cut off into a shriek of surprise as Oliver picked her up and carried her over to where Tommy was still laying. “Oliver, what are you doing!”

Tommy thought he might drop her down next to him, or maybe even on top. What he did not expect was for Oliver, still holding Felicity to his chest, to fall backwards and land on top of him.

What little breath he had replenished rushed out in a whoosh. He was fairly certain that Oliver had softened his landing but still, ow, it fucking hurt.

“And what… is this… move called?” There he was, wheezing again. “‘The Sandwich’?”

Oliver’s chuckles rumbled through his chest like a cat’s purr. Or, at least, what he imagines a cat’s purr sounds like; he’d never really spent much time around cats.

“If this is a sandwich,” Felicity mumbled from where her face pressed into Oliver’s bare chest, “does that make you and I the bread? Because if so, we need to discuss what kind of bread we are. Boring old white bread won’t cut it.”

“Definitely not,” Tommy agreed. “Of course, we can’t decide on the bread until we know what the filling is. Ollie?”

Oliver hmmed. “PB&J.”

“No,” Felicity said. “That only works with white bread and we have already established that that is out.”

“Peanut butter and banana, then.”

“Okay, you don’t get to choose mister. Any ideas, Tommy?”

“I don’t think there’s any more oxygen… flowing to my brain,” he panted. He thought vaguely that his ribs might be crushed by now; Oliver was damn heavy. “It’s up to you.”

“Isn’t it always?” she sighed dramatically. “Alright, so I’m thinking we could be a panini. Roast beef, since Oliver’s nice and beefy, and asiago cheese. Some tomato and onion. On ciabatta bread.” She considered this for a second. “Perfect.”

“It’s what we keep you around for,” Oliver said.

“And here I thought it was my good looks and computer skills.”

Oliver’s chest rumbles again and, though his ribcage may have caved-in, Tommy just can’t bring himself to mind.


End file.
